What makes a house become a home,
Is it where your possession stay?
How does it go from a place with walls,
To where I rest after the day?
What makes a house a dwelling?
Is it the things you put inside?
Or is there some more logic,
That gives a home its pride ?
What magic flows within these walls,
That give it a lived in smell?
The chipped paint screams out stories,
Old things it wants to tell.
What gives a box it's meaning?
Is it when you first step in?
What makes a home feel warm,
When there is only furniture within?
Now let me ask you one more thing,
A concern I can't denounce.
When did my lovely family home,
Become just an empty house?
YOU ARE READING
A Dash of Madness
PoetryThe mind is a horrible thing to waste. Now when you have a mind like mine, where monsters come out to play and happy things come in bursts, it helps to write things down. From bad days to good days and everything in between I try to make sense of...
